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Glaring at him, I roll to my side and grab the mug. Steam rolls off, hitting me in the face as I chuck it across the room, aiming at his head. The ceramic mug shatters against the wall behind him and soup splatters. My big brother doesn’t even flinch.
I’m tired of being brushed off. I have to know the truth. “My daughter is dead, and you can’t even tell me whose fault the fucking accident was.”
He steps forward so he can sit on the edge of my bed. His hand squeezes my ankle softly.
It’s the first piece of physical contact I’ve had since we came home from the hospital. The touch is foreign to me and what is supposed to be comforting feels like a thousand razor blades slashing into my skin.
“The police were chasing a robbery suspect. He was drunk and caused a pileup on the freeway. One of the vehicles struck was pushed and hit us sideways.”
I let the tears fall. “Did they catch him?”
“He died in the crash.”
“I’m going to work tomorrow,” I murmur.
“What? Andi. Your body is still healing. You can’t go to work.”
Todd has told me the same thing, but the reality is, if I don’t work, I’ll go insane. Becoming a lawyer is all that I have left now.
